


You'll Be With Me

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [21]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Creative Liberties Taken: How Spirit Healers Join With Their Spirits, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Nightmares, Recovery, Return Of the Sub-Plot, Side Pairing: Isabela/Merrill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Hawke and Faith have some things to work through. During this moment of Hawke’s vulnerability, the killer tries to get closer.





	You'll Be With Me

There were days in Kirkwall when the winds howled from off the sea. The gusts heralded the oncoming of fall, the sudden, sharp decline in temperature that the sea brought with it, the raging storms that pulsed along the shoreline as the skies turned grayer and night fell faster. The moon turned brazen in the sky, full and bright as it glowed past the constant rainclouds. Azzan watched most of these nights pass from the comfort of his empty mansion, to the soft playing of Orana’s lyre or the murmuring of Bodahn and Sandal as they spoke with one another over papers or plans. More often than not, he would find himself reading in front of the main hearth, Aegis lying lazy and happy by his side.

In the few weeks since the Arishok’s death – since the viscount’s death – an uneasy balance had been set within Kirkwall. It was one that made Azzan uncomfortable, that brought the press of fear to him, despite how the people on the street smiled and bowed as he passed. He saw the templars taking over for the guards around Hightown, increasing patrols, taking over every corner of the Keep. He saw Meredith walking into the Keep and not walking back out until well past nightfall. He knew what it meant. The knowledge of the noose tightening around his neck brought a never-ending itch just beneath his skin. It was made worse by the fact that he and Faith had not healed the rift between them.

The battle with the Arishok had taken all of his and Faith’s strength, and even then, he almost hadn’t made it out alive. He hadn’t told any of his friends, but he’d felt himself reaching the end of his rope several times in that throne room. He’d felt his mana slipping through his fingers, had felt the weight of cuts and lacerations that went too far, wounded too deeply. He’d nearly died there. And if he had, then the rest of Kirkwall would have died with him. The nobles in that room would have died. His friends would have died trying to stop the Arishok without their healer. The Arishok would have taken the seat of power and spread his warriors throughout the city to finish what they’d started.

And he didn’t want to die, no matter how much he’d lost recently.

Faith had needed to pour its power inside of him, to nearly give its life to him, the link between them so close they nearly merged together, even through the Fade. Faith had taken over healing for him, the color of his aura changing unnaturally gold before his very eyes. It had nearly been all he’d seen before those last instances, as he’d focused on nothing more than the face of the Arishok as he’d pushed the man back, and back, and back, until he was on the steps of the throne, his gaze lifted on Azzan as he stumbled.

Azzan remembered the instant well. H remembered the feel of hesitation covering him. He knew this man. He did not agree with his beliefs, with some of his practices. But he believed the man to be honorable. He respected him. He even understood where the Arishok had been coming from; even to Azzan, Kirkwall was chaos and greed, hatred and destruction. There seemed to be some sort of curse on the place, a darkness the city could not escape. Many might think it best to simply raze such a place to the ground. But too many people lived here. Too much would be lost.

Aveline had been the one to remind him of that. He wanted to hate her for it, but he’d known. He’d already known what the cost of failure would have been. He’d urged Faith to back away, but both he and Faith had hesitated. He was weak. Tired. On his feet through mere adrenaline. If she left him, he would be left completely defenseless. A single counterattack, a single moment of opportunity, and Azzan would have died. And with him, Kirkwall.

He couldn’t take that chance. He’d thought Faith was in agreement with him – he’d felt its resignation and had mistaken it for compliance. It was his fault this gap between them existed.

He’d killed. In cold blood, against a man no longer able to fight back. Faith had recoiled from him even as he’d performed the act, the blade of his staff sinking deep into the Arishok’s neck. It had screamed. He’d yanked his staff back, severed the link between them, ended the contract and shoved her away.

Now, he no longer felt her in his mind. The few dreams in which he’d managed to find her had been short, and dim, and difficult to recall. She had shown him the form she usually took around him, but he’d barely been able to gaze at it. _“_ _By the Maker’s will I decree harmony in all things. Let Balance be restored and the world given eternal life_.” She recited those words over and over, until he finally understood. She was out of balance. She’d nearly been twisted from her purpose. He’s begged her to tell him how to help.

“ _Truly the Maker has called you, just as He called me, to be a Light for your People.”_

In other words, Azzan thought as he stared intently into the flames in the hearth before him, _be something better._

He leaned his head forward. He didn’t know how to start.

He’d kept in touch with Ashra, his contact with the underground mage rebellion, since that day. His efforts with them had needed to take a backseat as his name made the rounds. He couldn’t go anywhere in Kirkwall without people following him everywhere, and without Faith, his magic felt suddenly woefully inadequate for the dangers he faced every day, let alone if he stepped out beyond the city’s walls.

That left him with little more to do than give any small amount of information he could, which he did freely, through Bodahn’s secret runs through the city with his letters. He still felt useless, even worse when he couldn’t even help Anders in his clinic as he used to when he began feeling like this. Yet if he continued hiding within his home, the silence would drive him mad. He wished he had family left to make noise. He wished his mother was still alive.

He sighed and stood from his chair before the fire, moving it back to his desk. The last letter he’d sent Ashra would reach her tomorrow; the hour had grown late as he’d stared at the burning hearth, wishing there was something more he could do. Aegis rolled around where they’d both sat, soaking up the warmth with his stomach and rubbing his head against the soft rug. He’d gone to practice with a few guards for Aveline earlier that day, hopefully assisting them in showing their worth to the templars before the Chantry’s forces took over the city entirely. At least one of them had been of use today.

He rubbed his temple as he made his way up the steps, calling out a goodnight to the dwarves by the door. Orana had turned in about an hour before, checking in with him to see if there was anything more he needed before she slipped off to sleep. He stopped at the landing, his lips thin as he considered what he could do. It was difficult to think; he’d lost so much sleep lately, he was beginning to get permanent bags under his eyes. His dreams had been uneasy ever since he’d lost his link with Faith. He yawned.

He walked into his room, trying to ignore the alcove that led to his mother’s empty domain. His gaze swept over the place, still half expecting something from his unknown fan. A letter, or a gift, or perhaps something more lurid, like a severed, still-bleeding human hand. Anything. But after saying he was going to do something, the killer had vanished. It likely had to do with the Arishok’s sudden attack, or perhaps with the templars’ sudden rise to even greater power in the city. He didn’t bother with the hope that the murderer had stopped. Months had sometimes passed between killings. Years. He doubted anything short of death would stop the man.

For now, his room was clean, and he made his way to his bed. Aegis bounded into the room. The mabari took several long looks toward the bed before huffing and moving to the hearth once again. No doubt the hound knew of Azzan’s loneliness. He lay down beneath the blankets and took several deep breaths.

He was out in seconds. He was awake in three hours.

He shot up from his bed. Aegis snapped awake, as well, and rolled to stand, his muzzle pulled back as he swept his gaze over the room. “Down, boy.” Azzan held up a single hand, stilling the canine. His other hand covered his face.

Another hazy dream. He tried to pull a memory of what had been happening, but all he recalled was a sinister feeling, a presence around him he wanted to escape. The setting had been nothing but fog and gray, as if he’d been stranded somewhere in some smoky gorge. The presence had crept closer, its aura more and more cloying with every second that passed. The entire time, he lay on the rocky ground, unable to move. Trapped. Waiting.

He breathed deep, the memory of the dream more haunting than it should have been. Had some demon been creeping up on him? Had he been with Faith for so long that the presence of demons felt alien and frightening, instead of just another type of reality for him?

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. He had been fully prepared for his encounters while chasing after Feynriel. Then again, he’d still had Faith by his side. Had it been his strength protecting him, or its’? He sighed and stood. From what he remembered of his encounters before Faith, the dreams had always been either completely natural or mirror images of the Fade. He’d either seen the demons’ illusionary worlds, or he’d seen reality, insofar as it could be seen through a dream peering into a place no one had ever physically stepped foot in. He didn’t recall ever seeing something like that empty plane, or feeling such a powerful presence. Certainly not one off the edges of his perception. Demons had to get people to agree to deals to be able to merge with them. There was no point in scaring them unless it led to capitulation.

Maybe that was what this demon was trying to do. Get him to capitulate. He gritted his teeth. That wasn’t going to happen.

He got dressed and left his room. Aegis yawned widely, not even bothering to be subtle, before trundling slowly at his feet. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, but the mabari just gave him a droll look and kept moving. Azzan huffed. Aegis had hardly left his side since he’d lost his connection with Faith, likely recognizing his change in strength. Or recognizing that Azzan got weaker and more exhausted by the day.

He tip-toed down the stairs, Aegis hunkered low beside him. Bodahn and Sandal had gone to sleep for the night, and the hearth was dark down below. It made the entire house seem eerie, as if they were walking through some abandoned home. He did not look behind him toward his mother’s room.

He kept quiet as he moved to the hearth and stared into the empty pit. Why was he constantly staring soullessly at something lately? There were still things he could do. He had influence now. He looked toward his door. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about heading out there at night alone. With Faith’s help, he could easily protect himself. Now, though he still had power, he found himself facing a horde of people who would want him dead with no proper training in offensive magic. He turned back to Aegis.

“I have to go see Varric,” Azzan said. “Do you mind coming with me?”

Aegis nearly bounced where he stood. He barked loudly, once, then a little less loudly the second time, as Azzan winced and looked toward the lobby, beyond which lay the kitchens and the guest rooms. Aegis came to his side and panted.

“All right.” He looked at his door. He hadn’t gone outside in several days, and usually only to grab what he needed before heading back in. He couldn’t stay hidden forever. He had things he needed to do.

His door shouldn’t have looked daunting. He was still a capable fighter. And with Aegis, he would likely be able to stand to enemy attacks.

It was time to get out there and _do_ something.

He opened the door.

* * *

Amazingly, he wasn’t attacked on his way to the Hanged Man. The tavern was one of the few places with lights still on; night was in full swing, the high winds off the coast searing over the high walls and whistling through the alleyways, turning the air brisk with the coming of fall. He huddled low and stepped through. Nina was helping at the bar, cleaning up while the two lone customers drank their ways to the bottoms of their glasses. She looked over to the door and tilted her head. With a simple shake of his, she returned to cleaning. Aegis stuck by his side, and no one argued his presence. He weaved through the empty tables to reach the short line of stairs in the back.

Chances were about half and half that Varric was asleep at this time of night; it always depended on whether the dwarf had gotten into a writing groove. If he had, he would be grumpier about being interrupted than if Azzan had woken him up.

Thankfully, such was not the case, and Varric answered his private door with blinking, bleary eyes. He looked Azzan up and down and huffed. “You look like the mabari dragged you here and spit you out,” he said, his voice scratchy from sleep, and shuffled back inside. Azzan followed, Aegis right behind.

“Yeah, well, it’s a dog’s life,” Azzan said, and shrugged. Varric groaned.

“It’s too early for that.” He went straight to his table and sat. “What do you need, Hawke?”

Azzan rubbed his eyes. They burned with the desire to close. “I have a favor to ask of you. One I should have asked a while ago, but…” He breathed. “I got distracted.”

Varric didn’t say anything about that. It was clear _how_ Azzan had gotten distracted. Even though no one knew about what had happened between him and Fenris, they knew the two of them had had some sort of falling out. And then Azzan’s mother… and then the Arishok. Things hadn’t slowed down for a while.

“So?” Varric sat. “What can the almighty Tethras do for you today?” Varric leaned back and propped his feet on the table. “Well, tonight.”

“You know about the letters I’ve been getting, I’m sure.”

Varric’s feet slammed back to the floor, just like that. “Have you gotten another one?” He leaned forward. “What did it say?”

He held up a hand. “No. Nothing yet. I think he might be just as busy as me. Especially since he’s contracted with a demon.”

“Yeah,” Varric said, though his face showed he wasn’t entirely pleased. He didn’t go back to his previous lackadaisical position. “Daisy’s been hiding out, too. These templars are sure taking advantage of a bad situation.”

“It’ll get worse,” Azzan said, certain of it. “There’s no one to stop them, save the Chantry. And I don’t think they will.”

“I don’t think so, either.” Varric scratched his jaw. “Are you certain you’re going to be okay?”

“For now, I think my new stature has given me some immunity.” Hawke grimaced. He’d shown the whole city who he was. A mage. And a powerful one. He doubted there was much time left before the end. If he wanted to remain safe, he had to change the situation in Kirkwall. Fast. “But I don’t think that’s the same for anyone else. Including our killer, which is perhaps the only good thing to spawn from this.”

Varric tapped his fingers against the tabletop. “You think we have a chance of catching him.”

“I do.” Azzan finally sat. He steepled his fingers and leaned forward, matching Varric’s stance. “I think we might be able to find him. We know what he looks like. We know a place he frequents and a disguise he uses. We know how he sends information, and even what kinds of people he’s likely to ask to send letters.”

“So we know who and where to watch.” Varric nodded. “I already had some of my men look into the place, but you’re right. It would be worth having a few stay ‘round the clock. Don’t worry. I’ll set something up.” Varric cocked an eyebrow. “Is that all you came to talk about?”

It hadn’t been, but Azzan didn’t know how to bring up the rest. He sighed and laid his head on the table. “Faith and I haven’t been able to work anything out.”

Varric’s chair squeaked as he altered positions. Azzan didn’t look up to see. “I figured it would take a while. You just gotta have patience, I guess.”

He wanted to have patience. But when he didn’t have a way to help his friends – well. He did. That was why he was out here. “I have to make sure the others are safe, even without Faith. I think my being with them will make it clear they’re with _me_ , which may help protect them as things get worse.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” That made Azzan look up; Varric had leaned back in his chair again, though this time he merely sat with his hands folded over his chest. “I’ve spread some stories around to the right people. Anyone who didn’t know who you travel with knows by now. I heard some noble even went to Anders’ clinic today for some help with his daughter. And poor Aveline’s had to fend off a few people asking after you, too. Got some new recruits for the trouble. Sebastian’s seen some new faces in the Chantry, too, I’m sure.”

Azzan took a few moments to let that digest. When it did, he nearly collapsed back onto the table. “Thank goodness.”

He heard footsteps behind him, but Varric didn’t say anything. Probably Nina, or maybe Isabela. Either way, Varric shooed them off, because their steps retreated back the way they’d come. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is you. I know that’s pretty much the antithesis to everything you are, but just this once, it might be a good idea.”

“I’ve had a few of those,” he said. He eyes tried to slide closed. Probably not smart to rest.

He heard footsteps return. This time he looked up, brows drawing low at the repeated interruptions, only to find Nina standing at the doorway with two mugs in hand. She entered and set them before the two of them before heading out. Varric picked his up with relish. In just a few gulps, the thing was half empty. Varric wiped his mouth and gestured to the mug by Azzan’s face. “Drink up.”

Azzan stared at the amber liquid. “How dare you tell me how to drink. I’ll drink up if I please.”

Varric groaned again. “I know I’m going to regret this, considering how many of those you make when you’re _not_ sober, but yes. Drink it up, down, whichever way you like. You look like hell, and I can bet you haven’t gotten much sleep. Right?”

Azzan blinked up at him. “Can’t sleep,” he confessed, and reached for the drink. He hadn’t touched the stuff since the night he’d wasted the agreggio Fenris had given him. He didn’t trust himself with it anymore. But he was _tired_ , and he was with Varric, and maybe – just maybe – this might work. He drank it down.

“Try to not pun me to death,” Varric warned.

Azzan paused for a breath and gave Varric a tired smile, almost relieved to have someone watching out for him. He felt Aegis curl up around his feet and let himself relax. “Thanks, Varric.”

Varric lifted his glass. “Not a problem, Hawke.”

* * *

A smoky, misty haze spread out all around him. He felt a hard surface beneath his fingers, against his back. He opened his eyes to see nothing but fog and the vague outline of gray.

He knew where he was. He just didn’t know how or why.

Every attempt to sit up met with failure. His muscles felt slow to respond, his body heavy and lethargic. He tried to look around and found his head was able to loll gently from side to side. Somehow, knowing he could look but not react made him even more uncomfortable.

There it was. The presence.

He tried to make out something beyond the heavy fog surrounding him. He could see vague outlines of rocks, of what he could only consider a thin gorge, the rocky buttes only a few feet from him on either side. Nonetheless, his heart pounded. He was certain there was something else there with him. Watching him. Moving closer.

_Move away!_ he shouted to himself, but he didn’t move. His fingers barely twitched. His heart leaped to his throat. Closer. It was coming closer. He could feel it like a stain on the still air. He shivered.

The presence felt nearly overbearing. He could hear it now, just on the edge of the gray. Just beyond the wall of faded stone. It slid like some sort of slime through the fog, a sound almost like the dragging of too-large feet. _Get up, get up!_ The only reason he could see for not being able to rise was that he’d already been caught by the demon. If that was the case, then his best bet would be to wake up – to get out, somehow, from the demon’s lair. But if he was caught, and fell into this place every time he went to sleep? No wonder he hadn’t been getting any rest. He curled his lips and clenched his eyes shut. _Wake up! Wake up!_

He didn’t know how to fight this. He needed to see Anders.

_Wake up and go to Anders’!_

Azzan bit his lip until he tasted blood. The thing inching toward him screamed.

He woke up.

“Hawke!”

He jerked up, hands scrabbling over the surface before him. He shoved hard against something, only to find his balance lost. He waved his hands in the air. Aegis barked.

“Whoa! Careful!”

Varric’s voice, just by his side, and then a stabilizing force – hand – behind his back. Chair. He blinked until he could make out the table before him, the face of his mabari staring up at him from his side. Right. Drinking with Varric. He’d rested his head while he’d been talking to his friend. It was all he could remember before – before that place and the gray and the unknown danger. He took several deep breaths. “Sorry,” he managed. Varric finally let go of the chair and stepped back.

He looked around the room. The place seemed the same as it had been only a few hours before – and it had to have been only a few hours, considering his still-deep sleepiness and the lack of ache in his neck and back. Aegis still stood at the ready beside him, his body stiff as he awaited an order. He stretched subtly and turned back to Varric. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off. “What the hell was that, Hawke? You just went crazy.”

He ran a hand through his hair until it caught in his hairband. He couldn’t remember everything. Which in itself was odd; mages were well known for their lucid dreaming and memories of the experiences. Which meant something more might be at play? Or that his exhaustion was creeping up on him. “I’ve been having the same dream recently,” he said, and shrugged. There was no point worrying his friend over something that couldn’t be stopped. And since he would rather die than be taken over by a demon, he didn’t need to worry about protecting the city from himself. “Did I hurt you?”

“Just about scared me out of my wits, is all. Not that that’s an easy thing to do, mind you.” Varric seemed to be breathing a bit heavily, but Azzan couldn’t see any reddening of his skin or bruising. Without Faith, he would have to see a wound to be willing to use the small amount of healing magic he had. Still, he double-checked his own findings as Varric moved around Aegis and the table to his usual chair. The dwarf sat down. “You lost it, Hawke. Started thrashing in your sleep, nearly shouting. I thought you’d been possessed.”

Had Varric being trying to save him? Stop him? Contain him? It didn’t matter. “Thank you.” He stood. “What time is it?”

“Nearly dawn,” Varric said. He leaned back, but his gaze remained sharp. “Give it another couple of hours, and you’ll be good. What was the dream about?”

“I don’t know. Nothing.” Varric’s eyes narrowed. Azzan gave him a tired smile. “Really. I don’t know. Gray. Fog. Rocks.”

“So it’s a demon.”

“Demons usually show visions or trap you in mazes. They at least talk to you – they can’t get a contract from you if you don’t at least speak with them. They can’t trick you if they never throw anything at you to, well. Trick you.”

Varric didn’t look appeased, but he didn’t seem to have anything to say to rebut what Azzan said. For the best. Varric wouldn’t be able to help him, and if he failed to protect himself, the problem would be taken care of.

He yawned. “Thank you for helping protect the others, Varric. And for the drink.” Thanks to the alcohol, he’d managed to fall asleep twice in one night. Every previous attempt to do so had always ended in him tossing and turning, his mind refusing to return to that place.

He stood to leave. Aegis moved to take point.

“Hawke.” Varric’s hands were hidden beneath the table. Azzan imagined him tapping his fingers on his leg. “Does this have anything to do with having lost your contract with Faith?”

Azzan thought about it. He remembered waking enough to see Faith protecting him once before. “I think she kept demons away. Her realm in the Fade was small, but it was safe. I never encountered demons there.”

Varric frowned. “Maybe patience isn’t the way to go.”

Azzan chuckled. “Not like you ever know where to go in the Fade, anyway.”

Varric groaned noisily. _“Hawke.”_

He chuckled again and waved. “All right.” Aegis led him out, sensing the end of the conversation. They moved down the stairs and through the main room. Nina stood speaking with Marlaine, the woman likely taking over Nina’s shift. The men who had sat in the bar had left; only one customer sat in the bar at this time, back in the far corner, his mug nearly full as he stared emptily into it. Azzan waved to both serving women as he made his way out into the night.

Aegis stood just to his right and ahead of him, ready to battle anyone foolish enough to attack his human. But when Azzan made to head deeper into Lowtown instead of heading up into Hightown, the canine had to scramble to take up position again. Azzan looked down at the mabari’s whine. “It’s all right. I’ve had enough of fighting blindly against these dreams. Let’s see if we can’t fight smarter, eh?”

Aegis barked and wagged his tail. Azan wondered just how much he’d been worrying the hound.

The passage to Darktown was always a bit odd at night. Usually, the sudden loss of sunlight was startling; its sudden loss acted as an invisible barrier between Lowtown’s last batch of homes and the start of Darktown’s winding paths. But at night, that barrier did not exist. If it weren’t for the long set of stairs that led to Lowtown’s last few streets, one might never know they were nearing the place. Azzan still encountered no bandits or muggers – not too terribly odd; it was getting to the time when not enough people lined the streets to make it worth thieves’ loss of sleep themselves – as he moved through Lowtown, but he wasn’t surprised to see several shifty eyes as he stepped through the first thin walkways beneath the city’s surface.

Most people were huddled on either side of the street, struggling to find some comfortable position to sleep in. Some others had already begun their days, weaving past the others to head up to Lowtown, either to search for work or to search for liquor. A few more headed deeper into the area, likely coming back from attacking others in the night. Some, however, simply stood watching Azzan pass. A few made to move forward, only to stop at Aegis’ growl. Azzan moved carefully. This was one of the times when the Carta was most active, and he’d made too many enemies in that group to be left alone if they saw him. But he managed to make it past their usual spots and turned down the walkway that led to Azzan’s clinic. He was nearly outside its doors when he heard something from behind. Aegis growled and stood behind him.

He turned. Four men were attempting to sneak up on him, each armed. Slowly, he pulled out his staff. Aegis bent and snarled.

They attacked. Azzan froze three of them with a single glyph and turned to the fourth. Aegis bit deep into the man’s leg.

They were thin. Haggard. Azzan grimaced and forewent his magic to run up and smack the man down. The base of his staff crunched into the man’s skull. He fell and didn’t get up. Azzan raced away, toward the three men still frozen in place, Aegis pulling quickly ahead and tearing a man to the ground. Azzan opened his mouth to warn Aegis not to strike a killing blow, only to hesitate. These men were desperate. They likely also had families. But they’d come at him with daggers and swords, one wielding a shortbow, and those they targeted had families, too. Azzan gritted his teeth. “Careful, Aegis.” Aegis hesitated. The man, neck in a mabari’s mouth, tried to stab his hound’s side. Aegis ripped into the man’s neck. “What a waste,” Azzan said, and struck down his second foe. This one got back up, slicing wide at Azzan’s knee. Azzan had to jump back to avoid the blade.

Aegis left off his own victim to snap at the man attacking Azzan. Azzan backed up as the man turned on Aegis. He pooled his mana and swung his staff. A quick shot of lightning burst from the crooked foci. The man jerked once, twice. His friend screamed as the bolt burned through him, as well. Both fell.

He could do this.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t right; one hungry man was dead now, his friends unconscious on a street overrun with scavengers. He left the men a few silver, hidden inside the men’s shirts. There was no guarantee it would still be there when they woke. He stood. But he could do this. He could still protect himself. He wasn’t helpless, and neither were his friends. He turned to Aegis. “Good work, boy.” The mabari barked and pranced before him. Azzan patted his head.

“What is with all the – Hawke!” Azzan turned at the sound of Anders’ voice. His friend stepped outside his clinic. “I should have known it was you,” he said with a shake of his head. Then he came closer and peered into Azzan’s face. His eyes went wide. “What in Andraste’s name happened to you?” He ushered Azzan inside. “You look worse than the men you just killed!”

“Those three are alive,” Azzan said, pointing to his victims. “They’ll need medical treatment. I hit one in the head pretty hard. The others got a taste of magic.”

“You look like you’re on death’s door! Leave the idiots; if they’re injured, then maybe they’ll think before attacking someone again.” Azzan didn’t know that he agreed with Anders’ logic, but since the man was pulling him into the clinic, he didn’t have the time to come up with a proper argument. Instead he had to hurry to keep up with his friend’s fast pace, passing bed after bed as he was led forward. The clinic was surprisingly empty for once; only a few of the beds were filled, and even less people loitered around. A couple sat next to a child on a cot, the child sleeping restfully as they watched. A man leaned against the wall smoking, having likely been ordered away from the patients before being allowed to do so. Anders led him past them all, toward the back. At the very last bed on the right, Anders stopped him and turned around. One long look, and Anders sighed. “Have you been able to sleep since Faith left?”

Azzan jerked. He should have been ready for it; if anyone could possibly understand, it was Anders. “Not well,” he said, readily admitting it. It was why he’d come, after all.

“How many?” When Azzan just lowered his brows, Anders amended with, “demons. How many demons?”

Azzan shook his head. “I don’t understand. Just one? I think?”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up at that. “One?” Then, an instant later, “oh, that’s not good.”

“Why? Why is that not good?”

Anders pulled Azzan away from the bed., as if mere proximity might get him to fall asleep. “Look. People who contract with spirits are rare. And it’s hard.” Azzan nodded; he already knew that. The work he’d put in to finding the right spirit, the right contract, the right agreement, had taken him years of study and conversation. He’d walked the Fade for hours in dreams, searching for a spirit that wouldn’t attack him or try to trick him. He’d spent longer finding one whose goals were his own, and even then, mapping out acceptable terms and limits for each other had taken longer still. Their contract had been pages long, most holding some rendition of, ‘even if this happens, you will not take control of me or enter me.’ Though he thought Faith might have found a way around that one, if that golden light was any indication. “There are only a fraction of mages who ever attempt such a contract. And very, very few who ever break the contract once it’s created.” Anders scratched his neck and looked away. “I’d hoped… well. It doesn’t matter what I’d hoped.”

Anders knew. Azzan had to resist grabbing his friend by his shoulders and shaking the answer out of him. “Just tell me, Anders.”

His friend grimaced. “You’re like a beacon to them now.” The words, once said, still made little sense to Azzan. “You made a contract with one of them. Even if it’s nullified now, that means you’re amenable to them. Demons will follow you everywhere, trick you, play with you. Torment you. Your soul joined with that spirit – for you, it was Faith. There’s something in that lost joining that calls to them. You’ll need to fill that, and the demons will be waiting. Or you won’t ever fill it, and it will be an easy entrance into your heart.”

Azzan shifted where he stood. Aegis, still stolidly standing guard by Azzan’s side, watched the two of them with too-knowing eyes. “This… entrance. You mean to say it’s as if I sewed my heart to Faith, and when I plucked her free, those holes remained.”

“Exactly,” Anders said, snapping his fingers. “they’re going to try to slip inside. Mess with your head, torture you. Drive you mad. And when you’re broken, they’ll take over.”

“How do I stop that from happening?”

“You can’t,” Anders said, his face sad. “Not without making another contract.”

Not without sewing himself back up, basically. He closed his eyes. Faith needed more time, and searching for someone else would take years. Years doing something which, in his current state, would be tantamount to suicide. He took a deep breath. “Do the spirits know this? The templars? Mages?”

Here, for some reason, Anders chuckled. “Probably not? I had to read a bunch of old, dusty tomes the second and third time I ran from the Chantry. I guess they wanted to bore me into submission? Anyway, I read an excerpt from a couple of people who had been ordered to get rid of their contracts. Apparently the Knight Commander back then hadn’t approved. Anyway. They admitted to seeing more demons and getting attacked more often. Both…” Anders cleared his throat and looked away.

Azzan could extrapolate. They’d both either died or been made into abominations. Or the Chantry had caught on to what was happening to them and had simply made them Tranquil. He reached out a hand to Aegis, let the dog’s presence bring him comfort. “Faith would likely be aware, but she may not have the strength at the moment to help.”

“Or she might not be able to reach you.” The idea sounded odd; they’d shared an existence, inasmuch as two creatures could without actually merging. He was always aware of where she was. Even with these dreams, he knew that, if he could just move, he would be able to visit her again. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t move – he couldn’t remember much of the previous dreams, but that seemed new to him. He opened his mouth to tell Anders as much, only to think it through again.

He wasn’t visited every night by multiple demons. He didn’t walk through the Fade as he normally had. There were no creatures speaking to him, no illusions, no rooms. Just that one place, that fog and rock and gray, and that one terrible, looming presence.

He’d been right. He was trapped in his dreams.

But that didn’t make sense. If a mage was trapped by a demon, they wouldn’t be able to wake up. They would be trapped in the demon’s lair until they managed to find a way out. Which meant what, exactly? What was happening to him? Was a demon trying to lure him? Was it so powerful it was scaring the other, smaller demons away? He rubbed his brow and tried to think.

“I think a demon is attempting to merge with you through the holes in your heart.” Anders touched his shoulder. “Justice and I can help you get away, at least for now.”

That would mean going back to sleep. For the third time in a single night. He didn’t know that he was able to do that. But he’d come to Anders for help, and if that was what Anders needed from him in order to help him, then it was the least he could do. “All right.” He moved to return to the bed Anders had pulled him from. Anders snatched his wrist again.

“What are you doing? Are you insane? I’ll search for you in my own dreams.” The man shook his head. “If you go in and we’re not able to find you?” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to. Anders looked around for a moment, his lips quickly turning into a grimace. “Just give me a bit, all right? I’ll go to sleep as soon as I can. Go home? I’ll meet up with you after I’ve finished.”

Going home sounded about the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he nodded. “Thank you, Anders.” Getting help from the twisted creature Vengeance had become might have filled him with trepidation if he hadn’t seen it in the Fade. It had not lost itself the way he’d thought it had, though it had successfully taken over Anders’ body while within. Despite the loss of control in Thedas, it seemed the spirit was still all right in the Fade.

Plus, it couldn’t possess two people at once.

They parted with a promise to meet soon, and Azzan made his way back through Darktown as its citizens began waking and facing the day. The man he’d killed still lay where Azzan and Aegis had struck him, but he wore nothing but his skinnies. The others were nowhere to be found. Despite the crowd being larger – or perhaps because of it? Or perhaps because of the recently spoiling bodies? – Aegis and Azzan made it through without facing another battle. They headed back up to Lowtown. Azzan wondered if he should inform Aveline of the dead body down below, or whether he should save it for when Aveline had woken up. In the end he decided to keep to his agreement with Anders and stay at his home. He would just have to send Bodahn out again. The poor man was being run in circles. Azzan would have to get him something as thanks.

They made it through Lowtown with nothing more than a single mugger, who took one look at Aegis and let the two of them pass. Hightown was beginning to show its usual bustle, and Azzan looked at the new wares as the merchants set them up. To his surprise, he made it to his front door without getting into a single other fight, despite the low growl rumbling higher and higher in Aegis’ throat. Then he opened the door, and someone nearly ran straight into his chest. He barely managed to make out the blond hair and tiny frame before the waif of an elf spoke.

“Master! Oh, master, you’ve returned already! I’m so sorry. I tried to clean it up, but it was too much of a mess. I didn’t have enough time. And I would need someone stronger to lift the body...”

Acting on instinct to the woman’s distress, he made to curl his arms around her in a hug, only for the woman to back away. Aegis, however, hunched low and snarled, taking a place between him and the main room. He could smell it, even though he couldn’t see it: blood. Lots of it. And something worse – viscera. Some of it even seemed to be on Orana. He wrinkled his nose and attempted to peer beyond the doorway. The tiles were a brown-red already, the carpeting as red as the sunset; he couldn’t tell from those alone what was awaiting him.

He turned back to Orana. “All right. You sit here,” he said, directing her to the bench. The young woman sat down with a hard thunk. Her eyes remained on him. “I’m not mad,” he said, though something churned in his gut. “I just need to know how whatever’s in there got in there.”

Her brows scrunched low. “You mean you didn’t do it?”

“No. I don’t perform experiments on people, remember?” No matter how many times he told her he didn’t perform blood magic, didn’t find it acceptable, and would never, ever experiment on her or anyone else, she never seemed to believe him. His gut clenched tighter.

She just looked at him. He stood straight and turned back to the main room. All right. He stepped forward. Aegis didn’t growl louder; there was no one unexpected in the house. Anymore, he thought, and shivered.

The body in his main room was one that shouldn’t have existed as it did. No wonder Orana had thought him responsible for this man’s death. Azzan stepped closer, careful to keep his feet from the wide puddles of blood soaked into the carpet, running in streams through the recesses of the tiles on the floor. Middle-aged, bearded, with hair growing thin as he advanced in age. Wrinkles lined his eyes and lips, turned the dead face into something almost melting.

The guts had been pooled into a pile, the blood spotted up so that the tiles held only streaked lines of red on them. Orana. She’d likely only woken a short while ago, or else even more would have been tampered with.

Stab wounds. Cut deep, though this time they trailed down, disemboweling the man. Strangle marks, thick and purple-black, lined the man’s throat.

The man had been killed. Here.

Hawke turned. The desk by the door. He hurried toward it, unsurprised to find a blank letter sitting on top of Bodahn’s careful piles. His gut twisted. This person had been in his home. Had had hours to kill this man, to root around in Azzan’s rooms. In his life. His fingers trembled as he reached out for the letter, only to stop. He took a deep breath and returned to the foyer. “Orana,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. The woman jumped up, her fingers twisting around each other. “I need you to avoid the stains and clean yourself, then raise Bodahn. Tell him to keep Sandal in his room and fetch Aveline as quickly as possible.”

Orana nodded, nearly bouncing her head off her shoulders, and ran to do as told. Azzan looked over the destruction of his home, taking in the nearly pristine look of the rest of the place, and took several deep breaths, only to gulp in lungfuls of that rotting scent. He choked on it and was left coughing as Bodahn hurried into the room. The old man stopped cold as he entered the main room. “What in...”

“We’ve had a break-in,” Azzan said, as if someone had entered his house and done nothing more than stolen some paintings. “Is Sandal staying in his room?” Orana came back in as Bodahn confirmed that, though Sandal had woken at Orana’s excitable entrance – “understandable, now, that” – at Bodahn’s quiet word, the boy had returned to sleep.

That was for the best. After the show in the Deep Roads, Azzan didn’t think the young dwarf would be fazed by the violence or gore, but he didn’t want to give the boy the feeling that he was unsafe here. (Though he was, he obviously was now. They all were.) “We need Aveline.” Bodahn was already making his way past the body and the blood toward the foyer. “Wake her up if you have to. If she insists on bringing someone else, ask for Donnic. Orana.” The elven woman had just entered the room again. She jumped at the sound of her name. Azzan heard the door open and close; Bodahn was hurrying on his way. “I’ll need your help getting everything you’ve cleaned back into the room. Have you cleaned up some of his body?” The elf nodded.

All right. He took off his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. “Did you not want me to clean?” Orana asked.

In truth, she’d tampered with a crime scene, thus implicating him even more than this normally would. She’s assumed the death to be his, had gotten his washbasin stained with cleaned-off blood, had placed body parts in his waste bins. She’d done something wrong. But she’d done only what she’d been taught, and he couldn’t blame her for thinking a mage might do something like this, or that it was her job to clean up the mess before others saw. “Whether you believe me or not, Orana, I wouldn’t do this to anyone. This is the work of someone who came into our home and harmed someone, leaving this message for us. If anything like this happens again, I need to be able to find the person responsible.”

Orana paled. “I’m so sorry, master. I swear I’ll make it up to you. I didn’t mean to get in the way–”

“Orana.” He held up his hand. “It’s fine.” He didn’t know how to say anything without making the poor woman feel worse. “Thank you. It couldn’t have been an easy task. Just remember that I’m not Danarius or Hadriana. I know it’ll be hard. I’m not asking for perfection. I’m not asking for anything. Just know for the future.”

Orana nodded again, her head moving so quickly he was surprised she didn’t hurt herself. She hurried off to fetch that which she’d cleaned. He followed after her.

* * *

By the time Aveline arrived, the two of them had managed to get everything she’d cleaned back in, Azzan deciding rather early on that they would merely move the wastebins themselves into the room. They would be disposed of afterward; he knew from experience just how the scent of death clung to everything. They would all have to be replaced.

Aveline entered the room alone, save for Bodahn. Azzan took it as a good sign; she was willing to come to his place alone, even after hearing that there was a death in his home. He turned to her. Her gaze was on the body. “Stabbed,” he said, his voice quiet. “And strangled.”

She came in slowly, her gaze falling to the nice, neat pile of intestines, the blood that had clearly been wiped from the tiles. Her gaze slid over to the line-up of bins. Orana stood behind him, against the far wall, her hands twisted around each other. Aveline glared at him. “I didn’t touch it,” he told her. “And don’t yell at her for doing it. You know why she did.”

Aveline’s lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. Her shoulders slumped. “Where were you during all this?” She swept out a hand to indicate the room and the mess within.

“Out.” At her second glare, he amended with, “Varric, then Anders.”

“What timing,” she said, and there was something dark in her voice. “You don’t leave your manor for days, and when you finally do, this happens.”

“I don’t think that’s a coincidence,” Azzan said, and when Aveline looked back to him, he pointed toward the desk.

Bodahn, still by the entrance, peered first. He gasped. “Another one!”

Aveline moved to the desk. As soon as she saw the blank envelope, she picked it up. She turned it over. “You haven’t opened it.”

“I thought you would prefer as much evidence as possible unspoiled.” Neither of them said having the actual body and the scene around it unspoiled would have helped more. The past couldn’t be changed.

Aveline turned the paper over and over in her hands, her brows drawing low. “The envelope is in fine condition. It’s nice, actually.” She looked around. Her lips thinned. “It’s yours, Hawke.”

Azzan jumped. He hurried to her side, skirting around the man’s body, which was beginning to smell even worse. Orana, likely noticing the same, moved to open a window. “Not yet,” he told her, and she froze. She went back to clenching her hands in a fist in front of her. He went to stand by Aveline’s side and peered over at his desk. Sure enough, the quill on his desk was still wet with ink, the well capped off but with the quill leaning against it, leaving the last of the ink to stain the desk. If it stained, Azzan would replace the desk, as well. He didn’t want reminders of this.

Aveline looked over her shoulder at him. He didn’t know what kind of face he was making. Hopefully none. He was trying to keep his emotions tamped down. According to Aveline’s face, however, he was failing. She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, tilting it slightly so she could read it first. He forced himself to step back, despite how much he wanted to snatch it from her hands. He waited for over a minute before Aveline turned to him. Her lips were pursed tight, her eyes hard. “This is a problem, Hawke.” He reached out for the letter. She actually hesitated before handing it over to him. “There’s something more. That man there. I recognize him. The templars have been looking for him. They say he’s a blood mage, and a dangerous one, at that. He’s been doing experiments in Darktown, even killed a couple of templars when they went to grab him.”

_I will ensure nothing like this ever happens again._

Hawke shivered. Suddenly it was freezing cold in his house. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared into the empty hearth. The man sending those letters – the man killing templars and those associated with them – had promised Azzan that what had happened to his mother wouldn’t happen again. Was this some sort of sick way of showing that he intended to keep that promise? It wasn’t something Azzan had asked for. Not like this man didn’t apparently deserve what had been done to him, but the idea of it happening because of some false association with Azzan – he felt unnerved. “He got into my house,” he said, his voice carefully lacking inflection. “He came inside, that man in tow, and killed him. Whatever ability he has to keep himself from being heard, he used it to walk around while the others were sleeping.” The man could have come in while _Azzan_ was sleeping. Suddenly he was so, so happy he’d been having bad dreams, bad enough to keep him awake during the night. He feared ever going to sleep again.

Aveline didn’t have anything to say to that, and he focused finally on the letter in his hand. The script, by now, was familiar to him, nearly as familiar as his own, or Fenris’. _I hope you like my gift for you, little bird. Please accept my apology for not catching the man who harmed your mother. I will watch over you and your loved ones more closely from now on._ Azzan had to close his eyes to remember how to breathe. He opened them after taking a huge breath and held it as he continued. _Your home is beautiful. You have come so far. I’m so proud of you. When we meet again, you’ll be proud of me, too. I’ve come very far. I’m strong enough to stand beside you now. We’ll be a perfect match._

Azzan tore his gaze away and gulped in a breath. The paper crinkled as his hands shook. He couldn’t get himself under control. “What does this mean?” he asked, though he knew. He knew what the letter meant. What he wanted to know was _why_. What in the world would possess someone to do something like this? To be like this?

“I know it’s bad, Hawke, but it’s best to focus on the details when something like this happens. That letter gives us more information about this man. Did you see it?”

Buzzing filled his head. He knew only what he’d read: this person was interested in joining him. This person thought he would ever willingly join someone like this, someone who broke into peoples’ homes and killed them, or brought people into others’ homes and killed them there. Azzan took great, heaping gulps of air. He couldn’t focus. “What?” he asked.

“This person knows you, Hawke. You’ve met him.”

Hawke searched the letter blindly. _When we meet again_. Oh. _Oh._ “I know this man.”

“Yes. Not that it will help much; almost everyone knows you. You stick your fingers in a lot of pies, after all.” Still, Aveline carefully took the letter from his hand and, while keeping it turned partially toward him, pointed out several parts of the letter. “Good grammar means well-learned. Short and disconnected sentences shows his frenetic state of mind. He’s also obsessed with progress; it’s the hallmark of every sentence he wrote. Not that I can be certain, but I’m fairly positive he would make progress in other areas of his life, as well, and likely started low in society’s standards, just as you did.” She handed him back the note. “It’s scary, what he’s saying,” she said, “but there’s still something to defend yourself with.”

Knowledge. He grasped the letter tight. “Thank you,” he said. His voice was hoarse. A tall, dark-skinned man whom he’d met before. There were several of those. Who had he overlooked? Who had he stood before, spoken with, stared right into the eye, and missed the signs of their madness? People like this were the reason so many people were afraid of mages. People like this were the reason Azzan and countless others lived their lives in fear.

He felt like he was walking in some sort of cloud. His head fuzzed into an empty, humming state, like a tuning fork still vibrating from a blow. Aveline started moving around the room, studying the floor, the body, the blood stains (what was left of them). He watched with a detached air. His home was going to be swarmed. And not just with guards. No. The templars had gotten a hold on everything, including the Keep. They would swarm his private place. His sanctuary. What would they see? Suddenly he found himself moving, picking up anything that could link him to magic in any way. Anything linking to Ashra he burned, careful to keep any marks from his desks. He packed up Sandal’s things and lugged them out of the room. He ordered Orana to grab up his potions, poisons, runes, and everything connected to them. Aveline had to know what he was doing, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t help, either.

There would be little point in hiding who he was. Little point, now that every nobleman or noblewoman in the world had watched as he’d fought with magic to defend their lives. But there were others who needed to be defended, and he wouldn’t let them be caught because of him.

It was as he moved Sandal’s items that he saw it. At first it was nothing, just an itch on the peripheral of his vision. But when he looked again, he saw things on the desk in the library were off. The empty bottle of agreggio was gone. He hurried through his home until he found the long-lost staircase leading to Darktown, the one he and his brother had used to find his grandparents’ will. He’d covered it up until it looked like an empty wall, but it wasn’t properly closed off. He shoved the barrels of food from the door and pushed it open, beckoning Orana over as she came through with her own items. She looked at the wall with wide eyes. “No one is to ever know about this,” he said, keeping his voice down. Even Aveline didn’t know this entrance still existed. Orana nodded silently. She waited until he’d placed Sandal’s belongings behind the door, then followed suit with her bundle of potions and contact information. They both went back and forth two more times before he was satisfied that they’d gotten everything. He closed the wall back up, replaced the barrels, and told Orana to check the other rooms. “For anything,” he said, “that might link anyone other than myself to magic.”

Orana did as told, and finally he was able to take a few moments to search the library. He was unnecessarily relieved to see the bottle of agreggio had merely been moved up to the wrong desk. Presumably taken there by the killer. He took it to a clean washbasin in the kitchen and cleaned it off, unwilling to lose it despite it being nothing more than an empty bottle. It had been a gift from Fenris; it meant more to him than glass or blood. He took it back and, clean and dry, placed it back where it belonged. A few more things had been put in the wrong places, and he straightened up before heading to his shelves, searching between them for Anders’ manifestos. He found only two, burning them both. He had to hope that his deliberate search would be more thorough than Meredith’s men’s.

As usual, the act of protecting others gave him focus. He feared what Meredith and her men would do; they’d been looking for any excuse to target him ever since he’d killed the Arishok and made himself known. “Your men need to get here first,” he said as soon as he walked back into the main room. Bodahn stood by the door, taking watch over Aveline as she worked. “Unless you want them to potentially arrest me.”

“I know that,” Aveline said. She seemed to have searched the scene to her heart’s content. “I can only give them a couple of minutes’ head start.”

“As long as it’s enough to confirm I didn’t kill this man.” Azzan looked around again. An attempt to clean up. A death that clearly happened in this very room. Allies who had been in this house who hadn’t, as they will say, “heard a thing.” Suspicious, suspicious, suspicious. He knew very well how it would look to Meredith. To Cullen. The buzzing came back. “Bodahn?”

“Yes, messere?”

“I need you to make another run. I’m sorry. I need you to keep Anders away from here.” Aveline gave him a sharp look at that, but Bodahn simply accepted the job and raced off once more. The man definitely deserved something nice.

Aveline went to his side. “Would this have anything to do with why you went to see the man in the middle of the night?”

“I saw him at dawn. I fell asleep while with Varric.” He knew she would have to take him with her, or else people might accuse him of tampering with the evidence. “Orana, you don’t have to be here. It will be safest in my room. Wait up there.” Orana nodded and ran off, once again doing as told. He didn’t like giving orders, but he liked less the idea of her coming under Meredith’s spotlight. Only when she was safely ensconced in his room did he follow Aveline out.

* * *

They all came in droves.

He’d known the death count this man had racked up, and the death of the all-important templar had ratcheted anything related to him into a new sphere of import to the templar and guard communities. He also knew that he, as a person of note in the city, would gain a lot of attention for doing little more than sneezing into silence. What he hadn’t known was how all of this would conglomerate into an absolute nightmare.

Aveline’s guards had at least done little more than nod at him before getting to work cataloging the room and its contents. Aveline pointed out the letter and had it taken, likely to continue searching the words for more hidden information. Only one person left the main room, and it was to grab the washbasin Azzan had told Orana to clean herself in.

Meredith’s people, on the other hand, were something else entirely. He got to watch their interaction with Aveline and her guards for the first time as they burst into his house as if storming a fortress. Meredith – and why, exactly, did she need to come personally for this? – ordered both her men and the guards to take up certain positions. “Who cleaned this up?” she asked, glaring around the room shortly before turning to Azzan.

“I did,” he said, and wished he could grip his staff. “I panicked. When I came to my senses, I called on Guard Captain Aveline.”

Meredith sneered. She delegated the guards to sentry duty while her men went to the body. None of the guards actually moved. Aveline stood between them. Meredith curled her lips. “Move, guard captain.”

“I will do no such thing.” Aveline’s voice echoed in the rooms despite her calm demeanor. Aegis, who had been keeping away from the main room and sticking to the lobby, stepped inside for the first time. He growled a warning at Meredith and came to stand beside Azzan. “This is the scene of a crime, and thus falls into our jurisdiction. I know you wish to take up the viscount’s duties until we find a replacement, but his duties never included this.”

“You’re a bit too close to the suspect, and this killer has murdered one of my best men,” Meredith said, her gaze straying to Azzan for a moment. Even in that short second, Azzan could see the flint there. The hate. He lifted his chin. “That makes this fall under _my_ jurisdiction.”

“No, I’m not, because Hawke is not a suspect, and no, it doesn’t. No man or group gets favoritism here. Hawke has little reason to inform us of a killing that he would have gotten away with if he hadn’t told us of it, though we’ll double-check, anyway. We’ll bring our report to you when we’re finished, and then the body is yours. Your job right now is to search for signs of where the killer went. He has a demon in him, so _that_ makes searching for him fall under _your_ jurisdiction.”

A reminder of Meredith’s actual job, coupled with a warning that Meredith wouldn’t be getting any more power than anyone else. Azzan nearly applauded.

Cullen stepped up then – why in the Maker’s name were _both of them_ here? – and bent to speak into Meredith’s ear. Azzan’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. Meredith nodded. “Cullen will take a small team to search for the abomination. My men and I will remain here. I understand you think you have something to prove here, guard captain, but we are on the same team. Stand aside.”

Azzan watched Cullen touch the shoulders of a few men. Without a word, they each lined up – likely in order of rank or something – and filed through the door. The rest attempted to swarm the body. Aveline’s guards, however, stood before them. A veritable wall. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m doing my job. You’re in the way.”

A few of the templars shifted uncomfortably. Something indefinable happened in the room. Azzan was viscerally reminded of his dream just before Meredith leaned into Aveline’s face. “It would not be wise to make me an enemy.”

“Who’s trying to do anything of the sort?” Aveline raised a single brow. She did not falter before Meredith’s show of might. “Unless you try to get in the way of my doing my job, there should be little reason for us to quarrel.”

The exchange was like watching two felines stamping out the edges of their territories. The two women kept eye contact without flinching, each ready to jump the moment either showed a second of weakness. But finally, after an interminable moment, Meredith backed down. “This won’t be forgotten, guard captain. Men. Search the house for signs of blood magic.” Meredith looked at Hawke again at that. He dared step forward. Aegis stayed just by his side.

“Stick to the rooms the killer’s been in,” he said. He continued before the woman could do more than open her mouth. “I’m a victim here, and a noble of this city, whether you like it or not. You are all guests in my home, brought here because this man was killed within my walls. That doesn’t mean you have free access to my manor. You will also leave the resident in the first room off the right lobby door alone. He’s trying to sleep.”

“Sleep?” Meredith said, aghast. “Through this?”

“He doesn’t know about it, and I’d like to keep it from him as long as possible. He’s young, with a simple mind. You will not harm him.”

“He won’t be bothered,” Aveline said, and dismissed Meredith. Just like that. Azzan, on the other hand, couldn’t help but watch the woman with energy coursing like lightning through his body, his very skin tingling with the need to move, to act. To defend.

Meredith moved to search the library. She neared him. Whatever she’d meant to do, however, was thwarted by Aegis, who bent low and bared his teeth. She stopped short and looked at the mabari. “Control your dog, Champion.”

“He won’t harm you if you’re no danger.” Azzan wanted to back up. She was only a few feet away from him, the feeling she gave off a veritable energy of malice. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was secretly a demon herself. But he forced himself to stand his ground, because the moment Meredith smelled weakness on him, she would stab him through his heart and leave him to rot.

He felt an odd presence in the back of his mind. A shifting in the balance of the world, his touch with the Fade. It felt so familiar he nearly cried. Faith.

Meredith stomped off toward his library. With a single motion, Aveline sent one of her men – Donnic! – to watch the woman. Too many templars remained in the room for him to be able to calm down, but he at least gave himself the opportunity to move to one of the walls and lean against it. His heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest. Aegis sat before him, statue-esque in his dedication to Azzan’s protection. He and Aegis both watched as people moved back and forth across the floor, tearing up and taking the rug, checking for the press of footprints. There were several, all squished into one another. Azzan, on instruction from one of the guards, placed his own foot beside one of the few prints that hadn’t been completely covered by others. His boot was slightly smaller than those of the killer’s. The guard nodded, appeased, and let him return to his post.

No one went upstairs, though it wasn’t for lack of trying on a couple of occasions. Each time, it was a templar. Each time, he had to call out for them to return. Each time, they looked at him, hesitated, and then did as told. After the fourth time this happened, he moved his post to sit on one of the steps. Aegis planted himself at the bottom and snarled at anyone who got too close.

It took hours, and after all was said and done and the templars had finally left, chasing after who-knew-what, and the only ones left were guards, the body still lay there in the middle of his main room, gathering flies somehow and slowly bloating. It had released itself earlier, making the floor an absolute mess again and adding something even worse to the smells already in the air. Bodahn had returned and immediately opened all the windows, now that everyone had already studied the state of the room, but the stench lingered as if soaked into the stone. Azzan rubbed his head. It was still morning, and all he wanted was to be able to sleep and escape all this.

“Hawke. _Hawke_.”

Azzan blinked his eyes open and looked around. Aveline leaned over him, safe beside Aegis, though not allowed any closer than that, her arms akimbo as she looked him over. “My men here are done. We’re just finishing our last sweep, then we’ll be out of your hair. The templars will be returning to pick up the body. Do you want me to stay?”

He stared at her. They’d had so many fights recently. Most unspoken, and those were the ones hardest to work through. Yet here she was, offering to help him when he needed it. And he was too tired to refuse. “Yes.”

So Aveline sat beside him, and together, in silence, they waited. Azzan could still feel Faith’s presence, though it was faint. He closed his eyes and searched for her. There was no contract between them, so he couldn’t get a deep sense of her without entering his dreams. Yet there was something more than there’d been before. He could almost feel her calling out to him.

“Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes, letting the feeling fade for the moment. Aveline leaned forward where she sat, steepling her fingers as she looked him over. She must have seen the bags beneath his eyes and the slump to his shoulders even before she’d called in the cavalry. But she hadn’t mentioned it. Why? To protect his pride? To wait for him to speak on it himself? He sighed. “You know, of course, that you were the first person outside my family to learn of my magic.” She didn’t reply. His sentence was too much of a non sequitur. “I trusted you with my secrets, and with my safety. It’s still in me to do so, despite… what you told Fenris.”

This time when the silence stretched, Azzan looked at his old friend. She sat quietly contemplating her fingers, the tendons in her arms taut to snapping. He sighed.

“I get that you’re afraid of what I can do and what I face every day. I do. But for me, that danger is one I have trained against my entire life. For me, it’s nothing different than the bandits and thieves and assassins we battle. You failed because you weren’t taught and you didn’t learn for yourself. The Circle could be a good idea, if it acted as your guard training did. But it doesn’t.”

“Hawke.” He looked away, contemplated his boots, the stairs, Aegis panting face. “I’ve had a long time to think about my decision back then. I don’t think I’m wrong to demand oversight for mages. But,” and here she took a deep breath, “I was also wrong in my decision to turn you in. I knew that the instant Fenris snarled at me for it.” She chuckled. “That was not what I had expected.”

It hadn’t been what he’d expected, either. The memory of it still made something warm burst in his chest like starlight. “So where does that leave us?”

Aveline sighed. She leaned forward further, until she could catch his gaze without twisting her spine around. “I don’t know, Hawke. But I don’t want to lose this. You’re family to me.”

He closed his eyes. Talk of family was still something he couldn’t handle at the moment. But the truth was that Aveline, Varric, Anders, Merrill, Isabela, Sebastian – they were all family to him, too. And, in several different ways, Fenris, as well. He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

He put his hand over hers and forced a smile. “You’re family to me, too, Aveline. I don’t want my being a mage to stand in the way of that.”

“It doesn’t. You’re a good person, Hawke. You aren’t one of the ones I’m worried about.”

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t really enough, if he was honest; she still viewed mages as too big a threat to be allowed freedom. It hurt, even though it was an old wound. Mages might be dangerous, but oppressing them wasn’t the answer. Still, he just nodded. Accepting, for now, the only thing Aveline was able to give. Fenris, of all people, had managed to accept him being free. Perhaps in time, Aveline, and maybe even Fenris, might accept the same for everyone. No one deserved to fear the loss of their freedom simply for being who they were born to be.

The templars arrived, but when they did, it was with Knight-Commander Cullen at their helm. Azzan watched in surprise as the man came up to him. Aegis, of course, didn’t let him within a foot. Cullen didn’t press his luck. “Messere Hawke. I’m sorry for what this has done to you. If you would allow us, we would like to station a few of our men here to keep you and yours safe.” At the disbelieving gaze Azzan couldn’t help but send him, he held up his hands. “I didn’t think you would accept the offer, but I had to make it. Despite our… differences,” the man said, and his gaze slid to Azzan’s staff, still securely tied to his back, “I am in your debt for what you did for Kirkwall. I would like to repay you for protecting this city in any way I can.”

“I did it because it was right,” Azzan said, but he at least stood, accepting what the knight-commander offered. “No one is indebted to me. And no offense, but I trust my friends with my protection far more than your men.”

Cullen looked again to Azzan’s staff. “None taken,” he said, his voice soft. He turned and ordered his men out. They left, several working together to carry the dead body out through the front door. Azzan watched them pass the lobby before sitting back down, the weariness in him nearly overwhelming. Bodahn had gone to his and Sandal’s room, likely keeping the boy occupied as the day progressed. Orana, he realized, lurching up the stairs, was still waiting obediently in his room. Aveline stood and followed, her gaze on him as he hurried to the balcony.

He raced to his bedroom door, apologies on his tongue as he opened it. Orana sat on the floor by the fireplace, her eyes wide at his loud entrance. His gaze, however, caught on the wall behind his headboard. Aveline stopped just behind him and hissed out a breath.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Honestly, it should have been the first place he’d gone to look. He’d been told in that very letter that this killer was interested in joining with him. _We’ll be a perfect match._ He should have seen it coming. Something would have been done in his room. To his room. Something stolen, something left. Hadn’t he been expecting gifts from this man for weeks?

But he found himself surprised nonetheless at the sight of his bedsheets twisted and mangled, his clothes left in a pile in the middle of the bed as if – as if the killer had taken Azzan’s clothing and nested himself within it. His chest of possessions was open, each precious item lying scattered across his bed as if the killer had chosen to play with his things – with his mementos of his sister and his father – as if they were his toys. The letters he’d written to his lost family members were pilled beside his bed. So much worse, the lube bottle he had used – the one Fenris had used – was empty on its side on his nightstand. And smeared across the wall in blood were three simple words: See You Soon.

He backed the hell out of the room and ran.

“Orana,” he heard Aveline say as he raced down the stairs, “he’ll need this room completely cleaned, the items put back where they’d come from and the clothes and sheets burned. Come on. I’ll help.”

“Yes, of course,” Orana said, and then he was racing down the steps and out the door. Aegis bounded along beside him.

In his room. In his bed. With his things. Breaking into the most private parts of him, destroying a room that held a beautiful, cherished memory. He couldn’t breathe. He clutched his chest and bent at the waist, unable to catch his breath. Where was the air? Where did it go?

_Faith!_

He didn’t even realize he’d called for her until he felt her presence burst within him. He clenched his eyes shut and leaned heavily against one of the pillars leading to his home. His hand shook, failed him. He leaned on his arm and gasped emptily for air. He was shocked to feel her healing aura encapsulate him. He heaved in several great lungfuls of air. His side tore at the sudden stretch of muscle, only for the pain to fade almost immediately. He shook his head. How…?

Anders.

Purpose. It gave him the strength to stand on his own. He stumbled for a moment, but with Aegis by his side, he made it past Hightown and headed down to the depths of the city for the second time in twelve hours.

* * *

“Hawke, thank goodness! I was starting to fear the worst!” Anders rushed out of his clinic the instant Azzan came close. He’d gotten into a fight, but somehow, despite the fact that he and Aegis had killed another two people, Faith’s presence stayed with him. But when Azzan tried to ask how things had gone in the Fade for the man, he was once more pulled into the clinic by his wrist. Aegis panted happily along beside the two of them, quickly veering off to sniff around the place. “What happened?” Anders asked. “Bodahn said the templars were swarming your place. Something about a dead man? I thought they were going to lock you up! I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you out since I heard.”

Azzan smiled. So many people feared the idea of him being free. Anders was a balm. “Thank you, Anders.” He looked over the room. Anders had gotten a large number of people since his last visit, and several people now waited in lines or on beds for his attention. Azzan looked at them all, his lips pulling down. He’d taken Anders from these people. If what he felt was what he hoped, he would help out as penance. “Anders. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to bother you–”

“Don’t be stupid,” Anders said, even as he raced through a short list of things and grabbed something from his table. He thrust that something at Azzan. “Here.” The blond looked up, caught sight of Azzan’s slow blink, and said, “it’s the basic contract Justice and I worked up with Faith for you.”

Azzan jerked. “What?”

“It’s temporary. Just enough to make sure she can protect you for the next three nights. She’s been looking for you, actually. Says someone’s been keeping her at bay now that your contract’s broken.”

“She’s been searching for me?” They’d only spoken to each other in those first few days after the Arishok’s death. It had been over a week since then. Had she healed so quickly? He’d expected months, at the least. He rubbed his head. “She said I needed to become better. That she needed to heal.”

“Spirits can heal pretty quickly, given the chance. All she would have needed to do was separate herself from humans for a couple of days.” Anders frowned at him. This was knowledge that Azzan’s father might have been able to give him, had he been alive to do so. Of course, his father hadn’t been a spirit mage, had instead been more focused on Primal and, at times, Entropy classes of magic. So perhaps no, his father wouldn’t have been able to help him. “Hawke?”

“Sorry.” He rubbed his eyes and sat on the nearest bed. He was certain it wasn’t a coincidence that it was empty. “I can feel her – it – Faith – with me. Now. She came during my time with Meredith.” He paused. “I didn’t know a person could make a contract for another person.”

“Justice made the contract, really.” Anders grabbed a few potions and set them out, along with a few bandages. “And I guess ‘contract’ is a strong word. He just made a basic list of what could and couldn’t be done during her stay with you.” Azzan looked at the paper in his hands. For a few moments, he simply read as Anders made his rounds, checking on the patients already in their beds and accepting new patients from the lines. The rules were simple, but similar to what Azzan himself had demanded. No unauthorised entry into his body or soul. Assistance appreciated, but only on the knowledge that killing might be a necessity – an obvious choice that was high up on the list, likely because of what had happened with the Arishok. No demons allowed. No wishes granted, no control taken in any way at any time, no bartering with those around him, no harm inflicted, no forced conversion of himself or others to Faith’s faith. The usual. He also saw that Faith couldn’t help him unless he specifically called for her. Reading that helped soothe some of his fears. He looked back up when he finished. Anders quickly returned to his side. “Good?”

Azzan nodded. It was written to last for only seventy-two hours. After that, it became null and void, and Azzan would once again be left alone. He looked back up at Anders. “How did Justice manage this?” he asked, careful to use the name for Anders’ spirit friend that Anders himself chose. “He can’t speak for me.”

“Nothing was given on your end,” Anders said. He sat down next to Hawke and pointed out the rules on the parchment. “There are plenty of limits on what Faith can do, but nothing saying what you’ll do for her. It just lets her be near you. With any luck, between her and us, we’ll be able to keep you away from whatever’s been hunting you long enough for the two of you to work something out.”

Right. Not a contract so much as an agreement. Made in writing. He nodded. “All right.” It would be best to get to sleep as quickly as possible. But Azzan could only look around and see so many people, all waiting for help, and he couldn’t demand Anders take another enforced nap for his sake while they all waited. “When would be a good time?”

Anders gave him a look like he’d just rent a fart worse than stinking cheese. “What are you talking about? Now! It’s a good time now!” He looked about ready to throw the bandages in his hand at Azzan’s face. “Go to sleep on the cot. I’ll be here to watch over you. If Justice or I think you’re falling into that demon’s grasp, we’ll be here to wake you up. Faith will be on the other side to help you fight. If that doesn’t work, I will go into your dreams and drag you to her myself. All right?”

His stomach rolled. He was going to do this. Now. His friend was going to support him while letting him try on his own, but Anders wasn’t going to let him fail. He nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he managed, and then couldn’t talk anymore. His throat was too thick.

Sleep, when he lay down, however, eluded him. He still felt jumpy over the day’s events, flinched every time someone moved too quickly or banged something. He shivered despite the clinic being perfectly warm. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the gray gorge, Meredith’s hateful stare, Aveline’s careless discrimination. He saw the dead body in his house. The tangled sheets on his bed. The message on his wall.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he heard a screeching noise as something was moved closer to him. He tried very, very hard not to freak out. Then Anders grunted loudly and complained, “you know what would make all this so much easier? If you were a _cat_.” And then Aegis was pressed up against his side, panting happily and licking the base of his neck. It startled a laugh out of him, and he turned where he lay. Aegis lay down on the bed beside him, tongue lolling out as he apparently gained permission to be up on the furniture. Azzan looked over Aegis’ shoulder toward Anders. “Only this one time,” Anders said, pointing at Aegis, who was certain to ignore him the next time the mabari came to visit the clinic. Anders looked at him, nodded toward the cot in a silent order to sleep, and turned back to his patients.

Azzan turned fully toward Aegis, until he could wrap his arms around the dog’s neck. Aegis whined and shifted closer, until Azzan was nearly draped across Aegis’ back and Aegis’ legs splayed off the edge of his cot. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Aegis needed a bath, but it was still a better scent than the stale air and the smell of potions and sickness. He buried his face in Aegis’ fur. His room, his losses, the feel of something dangerous shifting ever closer to him… every time he tensed, Aegis shifted where he lay. Every time someone came too close, save for Anders, Aegis growled them away.

He was safe, at least for the moment. Finally, after what felt like hours, he fell asleep.

* * *

He feared opening his eyes.

He couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t feel anything, either. Sometimes that happened in the Fade; as if one’s senses had been robbed, one would walk in a haze of nothing but sight, stumbling over green until they woke, disoriented and overstimulated by the sudden onset of scent and sound and touch. But it was the lack of that looming presence that got him to finally accept his transfer into his dreams and look around.

Green. He had never been so thankful to see that color.

He stood, brushed off his cloak, and looked around. The rocky outcroppings were unsurpringly foreign to him, as they were wont to be in the Fade. A person could land anywhere here. He breathed in, but smelled nothing. “Faith?” he called quietly. He searched for her presence. He could feel her, just barely, and turned in her direction. A single step forward took him to her realm.

He hadn’t been there in just over a week, yet it felt like forever since he’d sat awash in the cool calm of Faith’s healing energies. He shivered, goosebumps marking his flesh, as an unknown breeze slid across his skin. He looked up at the enormous statue of Andraste and dipped his head, as always. He felt the spirit sidle up beside him without even looking.

“I tried to go it on my own,” he confessed. “Without you. I tried to help people. But I ended up being the one who needed help.”

“And he took from the Fade a measure of its living flesh and placed it apart from the Spirits, saying: here, I decree opposition in all things: For earth, sky, for winter, summer, for darkness, Light.”

Her voice was like the wind in her realm, and he leaned toward it instinctively. Faith did not protest his nearness. She didn’t protest his return, or call failings upon him. Instead she assured him that healers, sometimes, needed to be healed.

“I cannot take back what I did to you,” he said, when the silence between them had finally stretched to something thin. “I cannot change what’s happened. I hurt you. I killed a man I respected simply to save those I did not. I did so even when he could no longer fight back.”

“Now her hand is raised, a sword to pierce the sun. With iron shield she defends the faithful. Let chaos be undone.”

He closed his eyes. That was a line from the Canticle of Victoria. He reached out. The tips of his fingers brushed against the soft stone of Andraste’s figure. “A killer who heals,” he said. “That’s who you would be contracting with.”

Impossibly long fingers wrapped around his shoulder. Her touch was warmth, despite the cool breeze. “Healbird. ‘Take this, my champion, and free our people forever.’”

The quote was one he easily recognized; over the months since he’d first begun to teach Fenris how to read, they’d begun working their way through the Book of Shartan. Faith’s words were Andraste’s for Shartan, when she had given him her mother’s sword. Calling for freedom with violence. Demanding protection with death. Fenris protected him by killing those who would harm him. As Hawke would never call Fenris a killer, so she was refusing the term for him.

“Fenris,” he said, then, before he could think too hard on the man he loved, he turned back to her. “You speak as if I’m forgiven. As if I didn’t do irreparable harm to us.”

“’All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned! Let no soul harbor guilt! Let no soul hunger for justice!’”

Relief made his limbs go weak. Faith, her hand still on his shoulder, walked him over to the pews in the corner of her realm. She sat beside him as he recovered. When he did, he leaned his head on her shoulder and just let himself rest. For the first time in a long time, he felt like perhaps he could. “The killer. He’s back. He’s fixated on me. I think…”

“And He saw only hunger and envy in their hearts, only pride and desire in their eyes, and He knew that they knew Him not.”

He shuddered. Exactly. That was exactly it. Hunger and desire. For him? For who he was or what he had? He wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t know who he is, but he’s gotten closer than anyone else. He’s been in my home. He’s been in my _things_.”

“’The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat. Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: Not alone do we stand on the field of battle.”

He looked at her. Her cloak covered her face, but tendrils not unlike wisps of hair flowed from beneath its folds. Her robes shifted in the unnatural wind, gleamed on the falsely green grass beyond the reach of the pews, nestled within rocks even greener than the shoots. “Will you contract with me? Are you willing to do so, despite what it may mean?”

“’Truly, the Maker has called you, just as He called me, to be a Light for your People.’”

He closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

They worked for hours in Faith’s realm, their heads bent together as they painstakingly wrote up a new contract. A better one. When finally they rested, Faith pushed back a lock of his hair. He could see her thin chin, the long length of her neck. The stretch of muscles as she seemed to smile.

“’It is done,” Faith said, again quoting Andraste as they parted. “’We march as one.’”

* * *

When finally Azzan’s eyes fluttered open, he could feel from the horrible press of lethargy that too much time had passed. Something clinked softly beside him. Beyond that tinkling sound were soft murmurings, the shifting of feet, the intermittent cough. He blinked and rolled around, only to almost fall off the edge of the bed. Apparently Aegis, still pressed close to his side, had decided to take over the full length of two beds while he slept. Azzan grabbed the hound around its torso to keep from falling off.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I was starting to worry you weren’t actually with Faith but the other guy.” Azzan couldn’t afford to look behind him to face Anders. Instead he scooted himself back up as awkwardly as possible, until Aegis finally took the hint and moved over with a huff. Once on stable footing, he sat up and rolled until his legs dangled off the bed. Anders quickly shooed Aegis down. “Go to the bathroom outside, please,” he called an instant before Aegis bounded off. The blond turned back to him, looked him up and down, and nodded in satisfaction. “Well, if nothing else, you no longer look like one strong breeze will blow you down.”

He snorted. “Thanks.” Anders sat next to him on the bed. Crumpling his robes to hell. Azzan grinned. “I take it you want to know?”

Anders nodded. “Specifically, I want to know how you worked out what’s going on with your aura now.”

Azzan shrugged. “We agreed that the best way to keep our intentions clear to one another was to join more fully.” He could feel Faith buzzing; the spirit was more used to being in the Fade, not being linked externally through a human. “We’re… one, now. There’s still a barrier between us, something that keeps our heads separate, if not our hearts. She will no longer be able to run. And she will no longer have to question my motives. She will always know. So long as I’m trying to help people, she said, there should be little problem now.”

Anders seemed to sit on the subject for a while before saying, “you know he isn’t going to like this.”

Azzan nearly asked who. But he knew. He had thought the same thing, even as he’d made the new contract and joined souls with Faith. He could feel her now as never before, a coolness against the beating of his heart. Her presence filled him even though they were not in battle. If he so much as wished her strength, it would be his. There was nothing hidden between them now. No more need to converse; they simply understood one another. Two parts of a same whole.

Fenris would be furious.

“We’ll just have to deal with that,” Azzan said, trying not to get upset. He already knew this would have consequences for whatever relationship he still had with Fenris. Their friendship had pulled through worse, he thought. Then again, even when things seemed to be working out between them, Fenris could always throw him for a loop. “This is something I had to do, both for Faith and for myself. I can’t...”

“I get it.” Anders placed a hand on his shoulder. And if anyone _could_ get it, it was him. Anders sacrificed more than many noticed – he lived in Darktown, in obscurity, in order to protect himself while helping others. He risked his life to save a friend. He works tirelessly to help mages in and around the city. If anyone could understand needing to do something to help oneself, it was him.

Azzan nodded. He stayed for a few hours, helping Anders deal with the backlog of work that had accrued while the mage helped him. It felt good to be able to do so again; he’d felt as if he was sucking the world dry, receiving accolades from the city’s people without doing anything to earn them. The change was good. It also kept him around people, around a friend, so that he needn’t return immediately to his house and his room. Even if his dreams were safe now, his waking moments were not.

The memory of it sparked something inside of him, and for a moment, he didn’t understand what was happening. The feeling was too new. Then he realized Faith was seeing his memories, hearing his thoughts, and reacting to them. He didn’t have that same problem; the feel of Faith in him was a constant, soothing balm, as if he was in the middle of his nightly benedictions. He felt something akin to surprise, and then a piece of knowledge he never could have known before.

Having Faith in his head was different than speaking with her in the Fade. He no longer had to parse meaning from quotes or hidden depths from canticles. He could hear her thoughts as if they were his own, could sift through the knowledge as if it was something he himself remembered.

He thought of that night when he’d woken to feel Faith hovering over him, protecting him from some sinister creature he hadn’t been able to see. The memory felt, in that moment, the exact same as the dreams that had haunted him since his separation from Faith. To Faith, they were one and the same. There was no room for doubt. She recognized the feel of that creature. And that creature had been a human. A human possessed by a demon and intent on pervading Azzan’s unconsciousness.

He shot straight up, the person whose arm he’d just healed forgotten. Anders made a short sound of shock from somewhere just behind him. “I have to go,” he said, and hurried to the exit. Aegis watched him leave for a moment, then bounded after him. Anders did the same, nearly tripping over Aegis in his haste.

“What do you mean, you have to go? What happened?” The mage nearly had to jog to keep up with him, despite being taller.

“Faith knows the killer.”

Another surprised sound. “What?”

He strode out of the clinic. Anders didn’t hesitate to follow. Unlike how things had been just weeks before, no one gave Azzan grief for taking the healer with him. Either he was trusted as a fellow healer now, or – far more likely – his status as Champion had reached even these dark corners. “There’d been a time – before these dreams, when Faith and I were still together – when I felt someone try to get close. She protected me. I thought it was a demon, but now that our minds are linked, I know better. It was a human. A human _possessed_ by a demon. That’s what’s been stalking me these past weeks. That’s why it wasn’t any known territory, why I hadn’t seen anyone, why I hadn’t known what was going on. Why things had been so _off_. Those dreams had been warnings. Warnings that someone was… looking inside me. Getting close.” It made him sick. “Faith is shielding me now, but she wasn’t there then. Wasn’t close enough to me to do so. That’s how he knew when I was up. He must have...” Been watching him. The house. His friends. In real life? Or through their dreams? Were the others being targeted, too? Was there any way to protect them?

“And what? You want to tell Aveline?”

“I want to tell her, even Cullen if I have to.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But that’s not as important. We know what he looks like.”

“What?”

Azzan waved his hand. “Not… physically, we only have that previous description. Human, tall, tanned. But we could feel him. What if we could recognize that feeling even outside of the Fade?”

Anders made a noise of understanding. “Do you think you could? It’s not something Justice or I have tried. And wouldn’t it be like finding a needle in a haystack?”

“Unless there are traces of the blood magic still in my house. And how could there not be? Someone was killed _in my living room._ Then we could follow–”

“The traces back,” Anders finished for him. But instead of going with him on the idea, the mage raced in front of him and held out his hands. His brows were drawn low. “Hawke. You can’t.”

Azzan stopped just before he plowed into the man. “Anders, what are you doing?”

“You don’t think someone using blood magic, someone who’s been watching you even in your dreams, wouldn’t know that you’re capable of finding blood magic? Even if you hadn’t recovered Faith, you have me as a friend. I could search for him for you, or even Merrill. He would know that. And he would know that leaving that person in your home would send you after him. _He would know that_.”

_See you soon_ , the blood on his bedroom wall had read. See you soon. Azzan made to move around him. “That’s fine. I can grab the others, Aveline, maybe Isabela, and we can–”

“No, Hawke.” And Anders stepped in front of him again. “He will have something set up for you. For you _specifically_. And you’re still worn from not getting enough sleep – something else he would be aware of. Not to mention how I’ve been working with patients all day, and you’ve been helping despite being tired yourself. The guard captain will be tired from dealing with the murder. The others could go after him, but if you’re not there, what’s to stop the killer from just killing them, too? You need to wait until the time is right.”

“More people will die!”

“Would you rather strangers die or friends?” The words made Azzan’s breath seize in his throat. Anders took the chance to continue. “I don’t like it any more than you do. Maybe less, considering what you’ve just told me. But we need to be smart here. This guy wants you. For whatever reason, his attentions have fixed upon you. He’s obviously willing to kill for you. And right now, he thinks that you’re, what? Friends? Soon-to-be lovers? But if you go with your friends in a show of force, then what’s to stop him from killing them to get to you?”

Azzan opened his mouth, ready to say that the killer had offered to _protect_ his friends. He stopped. He’d said he would protect them, but did he actually care about them? Or did he care about Azzan caring about them? How long would the killer care if he saw them as obstacles? Azzan found himself gasping. His heart pounded sick in his chest. Everything felt heavy. He shook his head, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have the breath to.

“If you go with them, they’ll be in danger, in a trap that this bastard has already prepared. Sure, we might be able to handle it, even if we’re tired. But if we can’t? If the past few days catch up with us? Several of us have been working overtime since the Arishok’s attack. Today’s been a slow day for me. Varric’s actually gotten in touch with the Merchant’s Guild for once, so that should tell you how tired _he_ is. Aveline’s got to be exhausted. I’ve even seen Isabela taking odd jobs to help out. That would leave you with Fenris, who’s likely done nothing, and Merrill, who’s been hiding from the templars, and maybe Sebastian, if he hasn’t been busy with his own so-called work. And you, already tired and exactly what he’s waiting for.”

Azzan closed his eyes and swayed where he stood. “What do I do? I can’t let this continue.”

Anders grabbed his shoulders, planted him firmly on the ground, and stared down at him. “You get a feel for the blood magic. You check which direction it’s headed in and you tell Aveline what you know. Then you get some rest. Stay here if you don’t feel safe. Stay in the Keep. Stay with Fenris if it makes you happy, though I have no idea how it could.” Azzan gave the man a dry look. “There. That’s better.” Anders smiled, squeezed tight, and released him. Somehow, Azzan kept his feet underneath him. “I know you want to chase this guy down, but it’s better to frustrate his plans than fall into them, at least for now.”

“Someone else will die,” he said, and looked away. And in the meantime, this man would continue stalking Azzan, learning more about his friends and his life, getting more and more involved. Sending more letters. Leaving more bodies. Harassing and chasing and taunting him. He shuddered.

“We can try to follow as far as possible,” Anders offered, likely seeing something in Hawke’s eyes. “I’ll even go with you, so he doesn’t know you’re the one chasing him.”

But at that, Azzan shook his head. “No. He’s less likely to harm me.”

Anders frowned. From the look on his face, he believed that about as much as Azzan did.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Anders still didn’t look convinced. “I won’t chase after him. I promise.” The words nearly stuck in his throat. Anders was being smart about this. Even with so much more sleep under his belt, he knew he hadn’t made up for over a week of insomnia. Worse, he would be running into this battle with the level of fear he’d gone into searching for his mother. He still remembered the moment he’d seen what had been done to her. He’d felt Faith rip itself free the instant before he began attacking his mother’s killer. He hadn’t felt its presence at all. He hadn’t been able to heal anyone, not even his friends. Not even his mother. He never wanted to feel that useless again.

This man, whoever he was, wanted Azzan enough to try to lure him somewhere. Where? Why? He wanted to follow, to end this one way or another. But if it meant failing? Merrill being targeted or turned in to the templars? If it meant Anders’ clinic getting raided, or Isabela being arrested? If it meant Fenris being harassed? Bodahn and Sandal being attacked? Orana being killed?

He had too many to protect. He had to choose.

He felt sick.

Anders forced him to stay long enough to eat, and they carefully kept to more neutral topics. The only time they brought up the killer was when Azzan, voice very low, asked if ignoring the trap would anger the killer. “Possibly,” Anders had answered around a bite of noodles, “but you just got Faith back. That’ll be the excuse he uses, that you were tired or working with her or something. It might annoy him, but he won’t go after anyone for it.”

But he would keep in touch. There was no way he wouldn’t keep in touch.

“We’ll catch him,” Anders said. “We will. He’s already made mistakes in order to get to you. We know what he looks like, where he goes to send information to you. We know he’s been in your dreams and what he feels like there. Soon we’ll know the feel of his demon and its touch on his magic – well, so to speak, since he doesn’t have any of his own. By now, even Aveline has probably found some clues.” Azzan thought of what she’d gleaned from that last letter and nodded.

If he left Anders and asked, he was certain the others would go with him to find the killer. He was certain he’d lead them straight to the trap, and he was almost certain they would be able to handle it. They’d faced abominations and blood mages before. Was he letting himself be talked out of it because the man scared him?

“Tomorrow,” he said, looking up from his food suddenly. “We go after him tomorrow.”

Anders stopped eating. Swallowed. “All right,” he said, after a long few moments just staring at Azzan. “We have your back, Hawke.”

That’s what he was afraid of.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote an entire piece - the longest piece so far, even - without having Fenris in it once! What the heck is happening?! But fear not; he'll be returning in the next part.


End file.
